Snow Angels
by Penguin
Summary: Draco plays around in the snow. Mild slash (H/D). Merry Christmas, H/D shippers!


Disclaimer: The characters are J.K. Rowling's, not mine.

A/N: Thanks to my beta, **Plumeria**. Merry Christmas, all H/D shippers!

Author: Penguin

Title: SNOW ANGELS

It was the Sunday before Christmas, and most students had gone home for the holidays.

Draco Malfoy lay on his back in the snow, staring up into the grey sky, flailing arms and legs. No, he hadn't fallen over skiing; he wasn't lying there helpless like a keeled-over beetle. He was making snow angels.

There was a big semi-circle of angels now, spread out like a fan. This was the last one. He'd stop after this one.

He got up, shook snow out of his hair, brushed it off his clothes, watched it stick to his mittens in little clods. The temperature was just below zero and the snow was heavy. Perfect for snowballs. A tree-trunk fifteen yards away had one side smacked full of hard, packed snow. Draco was a good shot.

He looked around in the grey light. It was a cloudy day and everything was black or white or a shade in between. Nothing had sharp contours. Dusk would fall in half an hour or so. 

Draco thought suddenly that perhaps everything was really made of snow, the trees and the mountains and the castle, and he himself. The moment the temperature rose above zero it would all melt away into nothing. There would only be flat dark land and emptiness.

The thought appealed to him at first, and then began to scare him. He quickly decided to make a snow lantern, and started scooping up snow in his hands. Then he noticed someone coming towards him through the whiteness, a second pearlrope of footprints appearing alongside his own. He straightened his back. Here, for sure, was someone who was not made of snow.

A deep sigh, and he wasn't quite sure whether it was of relief or annoyance. He glanced at the snow angels and was suddenly desperately embarrassed. Hurriedly he began to destroy them by trampling on them and kicking snow into them, but there were too many, and several of them were still intact when Harry came up up to him.

Harry had cheeks like winter apples, bright red and glowing in the expanse of white, the only splash of colour in this pale, pale world. His face split in a grin when he saw the imprints around Draco. Draco stopped kicking at the snow and wasn't quite sure what embarrassed him most; the fact that he had been making snow angels or the fact that Harry had seen him try to pretend he hadn't. 

"_Angels_??" Harry's laugh rang through the silence of snow. "I just _knew_ you had a soppy streak hidden in there somewhere."

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll turn you into a snowman." He pretended to consider. "Come to think of it, it would be an excellent way to get rid of you for good. Why haven't I thought of that before?"

"Pass the tip on to You-Know-Who," said Harry, still laughing. "That'll impress him. 'The Boy Who Melted'. "

Draco looked at Harry and thought that there really were moments when he adored this boy. Harry looked back for one extended second before he decided to shove a considerable amount of snow down Draco's neck. In the ensuing fight both snow angels and snow lantern disappeared in foot prints and knee prints and skid marks.

Dusk falls quickly in winter. So does snow. The air was blue-grey and half opaque with snowflakes when they finally stopped fighting, flushed and panting, staggering slightly and supporting each other. 

"How long is it now?" said Draco as he stamped snow off his boots.

Harry stopped brushing at his cloak and looked at him questioningly.

"How long since what?"

"How long since that day... you know, in Hogsmeade...?"

Draco's face was hot and he was glad of the fading light.

"Oh, _that_ day. Four weeks now." 

Harry's tone was mocking, but Draco was delighted that the answer came so promptly. He watched snowflakes land in Harry's hair, on his lashes, and wanted to kiss them away. He took a step forward. His hand cupped the back of Harry's head and Harry was very still all of a sudden, eyes falling shut. Their noses were cold and collided briefly, just like they had on that day four weeks ago. And as Draco's lips touched wet drops on dark lashes he wasn't quite sure if The Boy Who Melted was Harry or himself.


End file.
